


Darling (greatly)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: 1x01, Angst, Animal Traits, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Mating, Missing Scene, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Vampires, vague references to mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24918850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: Her next breath was a thready rasp. Prey-like and beautiful.
Relationships: Diana Bishop/Matthew Clairmont
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	Darling (greatly)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "A Discovery of Witches" or any of the show/book's characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I wanted to examine the moment Matthew smelled Diana's sweater in 1x01. And what might have happened directly after Diana turns around and the credits roll.
> 
> Warnings: vampires, animal traits and behaviors, scenting, vague reference to mating, canon appropriate violence, drama, angst, romance, pining, possessive behavior.

_"Ashmole 782 has been missing for centuries and yet you were able to call it up. Aren't you curious why? That book has never appeared to me or anyone else, no matter what we've done. Only to you. It could be the key to our survival, so isn't it strange that the only creature who can summon it is a witch who can't control her magic?"_

* * *

The coming twilight sparked dust motes between the cat tails clinging to the river side. The Thames remained ever itself, tempestuous and jaded in the night. Aesthetically, it was beautiful. Familiar. Calming.

Or at least it should have been.

Instead, every part of him was burning.

He'd intended to walk away, to let her think about what he'd said and come to the obvious conclusion. That she needed him. That they needed to work together, if nothing else. But then he'd stopped beside her sweater, something weighing his steps. An unknown power forcing him to heel as her scent rose around him - like night flowers in bloom.

He watched her watch him as she followed him out of the boathouse. Irritation spicing her blood. The humidity in the air threatened electricity as his knees bent, catching the garment in his palm. Suddenly overcome with the desire to scent it.

The fire under his flesh flared into a hedonistic mass of holy fire that aimed directly for the soul. Burning with something he didn't understand. Something he almost understood. Something he didn't want to understand, but also desperately did. High on fear and longing as sweat cooled on her skin. Knowing instinctively that if he tried nothing would be the same.

Her blue eyes dared him. Promising everything and nothing as her lips parted. Equal parts obscene and innocent as he crushed the material so deeply into his palm the bite of the zipper was a kiss of relief.

He shouldn't.

There was no reason to linger.

He already knew her scent.

He was _seeped_ in it.

But his hand moved without his consent.

Somehow, he just couldn't help himself.

No, it was worse than that.

_He didn't want to._

Like a ship sailing towards a siren-laden rock, he raised the sweater to his face. Taking her in with long shuddering inhales. Keenly aware it was one of the biggest mistakes he'd made in his new life in less than a moment.

He was drowning in her. Fire and water rising into an inescapable wall that towered over him from above. Threatening to fall. Threatening to tear everything and everyone from this world as he shuddered through it. Control a shredded, pathetic thing as his lids tried to close. Like the pleasure of her scent was too much to keep them open.

Behind the privacy of the garment, his lips pulled back, rubbing the fabric against his lower lip. Refusing to give it up as their scents started to meld. Soaring him to a height he hadn't imagined possible before-

Her next breath was a thready rasp. Prey-like and beautiful.

His eyes snapped open, tracking her.

The tart of her adrenaline so sweet he wanted to keen.

She was perfect.

He wanted to hunt her.

Bed her.

_No, both._

Her mouth dropped open. Fear and _gods-_ something that was on the cusp of sweet - like arousal - flushed from her pores as he trembled. She must have seen the predator on his face then because she took a jerky step forward. Only stopping when he forced words in a fractured growl. The muscles around his mouth twitched, fighting the urge to bare his teeth.

"Walk past me slowly. No sudden movements. Go! ...But don't run."

For the first time since he'd met her, she obeyed.

* * *

He was gone long before her exhale of surprise.

Before her heels rasped through a slow, cautious turn.

Before he could do anything he'd regret.

* * *

Instead, he ran for hundreds of miles. Coat flaring behind him as he left the city and found the deep woods where the trees still smelled old. But he never seemed able to outrun her. Her scent clung to him, _hunting_ _him_.

The thought brought him up short.

Skidding gracefully through moldering leaves and pine as the witch's scent teased the air.

_Impossible._

He was so incensed his heart thumped a single note.

It was only when he looked down that he realized he hadn't let go of her sweater.

He stared at it with shocked, animal eyes. Fingers twitching around the flaring sleeves. Still able to detect the thinnest hint of dampness from her sweat. The vivacious burr of honey and an enduring Spring. This time he didn't hesitate. He crushed it against his nose in a messy ball and had his fill. More lost than he'd ever been as he breathed her in. Prick like a brand against the line of his trousers. Highlighting his latest sin.

 _Merde_.

The animal under his skin only had one answer for him.

_Mine._

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Merde: French word for "fuck."


End file.
